


Our bodies touch and the angels cry

by some_stars



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-30
Updated: 2012-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-11 01:17:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/some_stars/pseuds/some_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All signs seemed to point to Dude Virginity Loss Imminent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our bodies touch and the angels cry

“God, will you just shut up?” Derek snarled. He wasn’t literally snarling; the situation was bad but not quite wolf-bad yet. Things were definitely approaching that point, though.

Now that Stiles was less scared of Derek--seeing a dude go all wide-eyed, voice-crackingly terrified for your best friend’s safety really metaphorically filed down those non-metaphorical fangs--it was even more annoying when Derek got all snarly and I-am-the-alpha. The best part about not being a wolf, Stiles decided, was not having to take that crap. Also not being in danger of being shot with poisoned bullets or accidentally killing all his friends. But mostly the no-crap-taking, and he was going to start right now.

He took a step forward. See, Derek, other people know how to invade personal space too. You didn’t invent it. “Well excuse me for trying to brainstorm! I’m not hearing you come up with any brilliant ideas!”

The snarl was a little closer to full wolf this time, but Stiles stood his ground. It was like training a dog--you had to show them who was boss.

“If you’d just--” His eyes flashed. Only for a second, but still. Stiles started to reconsider his obedience school strategy--no, he could do this. He wasn’t going to back down this time, at least just this once. He had to know that he could. “Just shut up and trust me for five minutes?”

“Well, gee, that sounds like a great plan,” Stiles said. “Except for how I’d like to get out of this-- _whatever_ this place is sometime before I turn forty. Or, you know, _die._ And given your problem-solving skills, historically? I’d rather take my chances wi--”

With the tunnels, he was about to say, except whoa what the holy hell there was suddenly a mouth on his mouth. Derek’s mouth, on his mouth, doing a thing that could only be described as “kissing.” Also Derek’s body on his body, shoving him up against the damp stone wall, being all hot and hard and bigger than him. A lot bigger.

Stiles was half aware that his arms were flailing around like pinwheels, but that was about the level of reaction you could expect when surprise kissing a dude in a secret cave in the middle of a fight. Especially if you were Derek, because what the hell, seriously? _No_ clues. Stiles would totally have noticed. He was almost sure most people didn’t regularly threaten violence to guys they had big kissy crushes on.

Derek’s mouth let his mouth go, but Derek’s hands were still pinning his shoulders to the wall. Also Derek’s face was still all up in his business. There was basically a lot of Derek going on in Stiles’ immediate personal bubble right now.

He had to admit, it wasn’t a one hundred percent unwelcome development. For principle’s sake, though, he tried to squirm away. “What the hell was that?”

Derek rolled his eyes. He actually rolled his eyes. What a _dick._ “You know what that was.”

“Let me rephrase. _Why_ the hell was that?”

It maybe didn’t come out as stern and forceful as he meant it to, because--okay, yes, he found Derek Hale attractive. Stiles was super bisexual and sixteen years old, and Derek was older and broody and dangerous and disgustingly good-looking, and whenever Stiles was around him he ended up with an adrenaline rush--from terror, sure, but it wasn’t like his body knew the difference. So of course he’d develop a crush on the guy eventually. It was textbook cause and effect, Pavlov’s dog, whatever, end result being that this wasn’t actually the first time Derek had slammed him up against a wall and molested him. Just the first time outside Stiles’s imagination.

It had been a little better in his imagination, actually. Non-imaginary Derek wasn’t nearly as good a kisser. But he had the advantage of being real and incredibly warm where he was touching Stiles, which was everywhere, because of the previously-mentioned personal bubble situation.

Derek seemed stuck on the “why” issue. Stuck enough, in fact, that his face was squinting up and his grip on Stiles’s shoulders was loosening. Stiles considered the likelihood of anyone else of a similar hotness level deciding to do this to him ever again, or at least before his thirtieth birthday, and decided to drop it.

Holding onto Derek’s arms definitely went better with the making out than the pinwheel arms. Derek was going at it a little too hard--not that Stiles was such an experienced judge, but he was pretty sure there was supposed to be more caressing and less mashing going on, plus, wow, hello, just shove that tongue right in there. But none of that mattered too much, because he was making out with a hot guy straight out of his fantasies, and it was all wet and hot and Derek’s body was some kind of fevered sexual hallucination under his hands. Logically, Stiles knew the guy had to have some body fat _somewhere,_ like, to survive. But everything he touched was just smooth hard muscle, and he could feel the tension coiled under the skin and every shift as Derek moved against him.

The kiss ended, and Derek moved to his throat as Stiles gasped for breath. His lips felt bruised, which was apparently--note for future reference--really doing it for him. “Oh my god, are you giving me a hickey?”

Derek’s growl vibrated against his skin. God, of course he’d want to leave a mark. Stupid weird werewolf sex feelings. There was no reason Stiles, as a 100% non-wolf human, should find said werewolf feelings so hot, so he guessed he just had issues.

“Fine, yes, hickey, keep going, yes. But no biting!” he added, breathless. God, that felt good, good enough not to worry how he was going to explain it tomorrow. It was getting on towards winter; maybe he could wear a scarf. Inside, all day long.

He didn’t actually mean to grab Derek’s ass. It was just a reflex, and once his hands had reached the promised land they decided to settle in for the long haul. This whole thing was apparently settling in for the long haul, Stiles noted, somewhat deliriously, because hello there Derek’s boner pressing against his hip all hot and--and--and _there._ He shouldn’t say ‘boner.’ That wasn’t a word people used who actually had sex, was it? And since there were now two dicks on the field, dangerously close to touching, and Derek didn’t seem interested in slowing down--not that Stiles felt any urgent need to remove his hands from Derek’s ass--all signs seemed to point to Dude Virginity Loss Imminent.

Stiles found that he was remarkably okay with this. Okay enough that he opened his mouth and let sounds come out of it. “Are we going to do it?”

Derek pulled back and stared at him. His eyes might have flashed, but it might have been the terrible lighting down here. He had the general look, though, of a twenty-three year old guy reconsidering his decision to have hot cave makeouts with a teenager.

Some reconsidering of his own probably wasn’t such a bad idea, but he had one leg hitched up around Derek’s hip by this point and he was pretty sure he was shaking a little bit, or maybe that was Derek, or both of them together. And anyway, Derek had started it. If he wanted to regret his life choices, he could do it afterwards.

“Not if you don’t shut up,” Derek said, belatedly and not very convincingly. The kissing that he followed it up with was convincing enough, though. There was a rhythm to this, Stiles found, the jerk of hips, going up on his toes to meet Derek’s thrusts, and if he wasn’t careful this was all going to end without anybody getting unzipped--and damn it, who knew when he’d get another chance? There was no way he was walking out of here without touching a dick. The one attached to his own body didn’t count.

To the crushing, hopefully temporary disappointment of every nerve ending in his body, he unwrapped his leg from Derek’s ass and squirmed back just enough to make room for his hand between them. There was an endless paralyzed second while he tried to figure out which zipper to go for first, and whether there was a wrong choice that would lead to more eye-rolling, and whether he was actually in as much danger of getting a permanent zipper impression on his own dick as it felt like he was.

Then Derek’s dick slid right into his palm, only a couple layers of fabric away and so hot and startling that Stiles moaned right into his mouth. So there went that dilemma. After one cautious squeeze that made his own knees weak just doing it--doing it to Derek, to another guy, an actual other person right here in his hand--he started fumbling around for Derek’s zipper.

Suddenly Derek broke off kissing him and shoved his face into Stiles’s neck with a groan. Actually, it was more of a whimper. Kind of strangled, too. Then he stopped moving.

Stiles froze. Had he done something wrong? He must have, he must have broken some secret unspoken sex rule. His fingers were just grasping the zipper--maybe he’d gotten it caught somehow? Oh god, he’d broken Derek’s dick without even _touching_ it. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, and then felt the dampness against his hand, soaking through Derek’s jeans.

“Oh my god,” he said faintly. “Oh my god, you--” You just humped my leg, he didn’t say, because even with his own boner raging merrily along, Stiles prided himself on his keen instinct for self-preservation.

He felt Derek’s low snarl against his throat and rumbling through his chest. “Shut up.”

“No, hey, it’s okay.” Stiles gave him an awkward little pat on the shoulder. “I mean, it happens to every werewolf, right? Wait, that’s impotence. Um.”

“ _Shut up._ ” Derek pushed away from the wall, and from Stiles, and immediately turned around. Stiles felt kind of bad for the guy. After all, he was living out Stiles’s own worst nightmare. It was probably even worse for him since he was all cool and everything.

“Really,” he said, “it’s okay. I mean, it’s flattering, right? Because, you know, I...it was kind of cute, really. Like--” A puppy, no, right, self-preservation. Also, what the hell, that was a weird thought. No more puppy-related sex thoughts, that was his new life goal.

So for a minute he just leaned against the wall, waiting for Derek to chill out while willing himself to get less hard and eventually, partially succeeding. A little.

Finally Derek’s shoulders straightened up. “I think I remember what that symbol on the wall means,” he said, without turning around.

“Hey, great! I knew you’d come through, buddy.” A wave of relief washed over him, mixing with the leftover adrenaline from the falling and the yelling and the not-quite-sex to make his head swim for a second. “Lead the way.”

One long tunnel, two short ones, and three left turns later, something occurred to him.

“Hey,” he said, and then again until Derek turned to look at him, scowling. “Hey, that doesn’t count as my first time, right?”

A lesser man would have quailed beneath the glare Derek was shooting at him, but Stiles held his ground. He was getting pretty good at that.

“It doesn’t, right? Like, there are rules? Virginity rules? Come on, I don’t know these things.”

“Shut up,” Derek said, “or I’m leaving you down here,” and he power-walked off into the darkness.

It didn’t, Stiles decided as he scrambled after him. There had to be rules. So he was still a virgin.

He was definitely a few steps closer than he had been, though. Progress was indisputably being made. And maybe they could try again later, if Derek didn’t kill him first to ensure his silence.

With a smile on his face, a song in his heart, and a still-insistent semi in his pants, Stiles ran to catch up.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Jizz In My Pants" by Lonely Island. Because I had to.


End file.
